Hero Heart
by Neel001
Summary: Story of a quasi SI smallfolk as he wanders through the history of Westeros. OC/SI Rated M to be safe. Reviews are greatly appreciated!


hAN: Just an idea that struck me out of nowhere. Slow story about a quasi SI underdog in Westeros. I don't own anything Game of thrones or anything really.

He woke up in a cold sweat, just like many nights past. The moonlight was streaming through his small window, lighting the room in an ethereal glow. The cause of his waking was a dream he could only half remember. Even the parts he could remember were so fantastical, he scarcely believed it. Flying metal birds and great towers of metal stretching as far as the eye could see! So many things in the dreams made no sense.

The most fantastical thing, however, were the ideas that the people in his dreams seemed to have. Everyone is created equal, all were educated, and deserved a chance to determine their destiny? Rubbish, his father would say. Everyone here knew their place and lived out their life as they were supposed to. Still those ideas were lodged deep inside him. "Fardeep are you awake again?" asked the tired voice of his father. He must have made some noise. "Sorry father. I'll get right to bed" he replied. He knew they needed their rest because tomorrow they were going on a long journey into the wolfswood.

His father was always patient with him, because he had to be. He was a trapper and hunter, and made his living off the game in the wolfswood. The townspeople always welcomed his fine meats and furs when they went to trade. Since Fardeep was 11, he had been going with his father on the long journeys, where his father taught him the trade.

Lately, his father had begun to teach him the sword. He wondered where a smallfolk like his father learned it, since hunters did not need swords. Still, he had loved the new skill he was learning and took to the sword with passion. Sighing he closed his eyes and did his best to fall back asleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

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They had set out when the world was still sleeping, in that magical hour just before the sun rose. Their journey today would take them on a great circle through the woods where Fardeep and his father would check their traps, set new ones, and hunt if they got the chance. That was Fardeep's favorite part.

Hardin looked at his son in amusement. The boy was extremely intelligent, and just as curious. He was currently stalking about the woods like some predator, perhaps one of the legendary direwolves. Hardin himself was content with strolling behind, not really wishing too much for an opportunity to hunt. Trapping was just fine by itself, and his days of running for excitement were gone.

It turned out that they did get an opportunity to increase their catch. Fardeep spotted the young buck first, as it grazed in a small clearing. His shining eyes turned towards Hardin. Understanding the implicit question, Hardin nodded slightly and Fardeep moved forward, barely making a sound. Hardin watched as the small recurve style bow was pulled back, its full draw power readied. His son took in a deep breath as he did so, and released it perfectly with his arrow.

The arrow flew true, piercing the buck's chest. It struggled in vain for a few moments, but eventually succumbed to its wound. Hardin smiled at his son's achievement. His boy had been a little different the past few months, but he was still just as proud of him. Theirs was a good life, he thought. Perhaps if his mother were here, it would have been a perfect one.

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Fardeep was bouncing as they walked back to the small fishing village they lived near. The sun was low in the sky and would soon set. He had made a near perfect shot today, and gotten a worthy prize. His father, though not expressing it loudly, had been very proud. They approached the inn.

Ah, if it isn't my favorite trapper! How ya been Hardin?" asked the innkeeper, an old friend of fathers. "All's well Richard, thank the gods. Fardeep here made his best kill yet."

"Really? Well good for the little tyke. What've you got for me today my friend?"

As his father and the innkeeper began the ritual of trading the furs and meat they had collected, Fardeep wandered, hoping to hear stories from the people in the inn. Interesting people came from time to time, from sellswords to foreign merchants, each with interesting tales to tell. Today he wanted to know if there really was a land out their like the one he had seen in his dreams.

He sat near a couple of Glover Guards who liked to frequent the inn. "Bad business that." one remarked after a swig of ale. "Them ironborn be wanting nothing but trouble."

"Aye, and they're getting bolder too. Our lord does his best, but they always strike when we have our breeches down somehow." said another older man, chuckling darky.

They noticed the boy, and smiled at him. He had occasionally pestered them for stories in the past and were fond of his open, friendly demeanor. "Hear that boy?" one asked. "Them ironborn are vicious. Only good one's a dead one." At Fardeep's insistence, they began to recount a story of a small raid that had happened on glover lands. The guards had been there to fight against the raiders, and had helped drive them off. His eyes grew wide as their tale continued, stirring some deep part of him.

Once his father was finished trading, they both walked out into the town square. The townspeople were still about, doing their last tasks of the day before retiring to sleep. It was as they were walking that Fardeep got an ill feeling in his bones, as if the wind was carrying omens of doom.

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The longship raced over the waves nimbly, like a dancer. On the deck stood a horde of vicious warriors ready, to unleash their carnal urges on more innocents. They had been searching for a good target for a while, and had found a neat little village with no guards around it. The captain, a scarred man with broad shoulders shouted orders at the men. The men, in turn, shouted orders at the thralls who were doing most of the mundane work such as rowing. They closed into the bay towards the small town, and prepared for an easy raid. Theirs was the way of salt and iron. What was dead would never die, and they would pay the iron price to plunder this town.

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As the longship landed on the surf, and the warriors began to spill out, the bells began to toll. Someone had seen the ironborn coming and was raising the alarm. The men of the north were hardy, and all carried wood axes and the like, but it would not amount to enough against a full raiding party. The glover men sent one of theirs to get help, while the other two stood behind to rally some sort of defense.

Fardeep saw them coming in the light of the setting sun. His body was shaking by itself. There was a pounding in his ears. His father had given him the bow and drawn his sword. They could have ran, but father was too brave, to good, to leave the town to fend for itself. "We must help these people. Stay safe and out of the way Fardeep." father had said before rushing towards the raiders. The men of the village skirmished with the raiders, but could not match their armor or weapons.

"Kill them all lads!" shouted the biggest ironborn. Fardeep followed his father instead of listening to him. His leather boots made little noise as he ran towards the fighting. The sand of the beach near the village was no longer beautiful. It was stained red with blood and corpses. Through the horror Fardeep saw his father. With a skill that belied his status, Hardin had made it to the iroborn leader and was trading blows with him fiercely. In that moment, he looked not like a humble smallfolk trapper, but a knight as glorious as the ones in the stories his mother used to tell him. Silently he readied his bow, hoping to help his father but he couldn't get a clear shot.

Then, without warning, the captain kicked his father in the knee. That moment of pain was all he needed, and the next moment, his sword had emerged from his father's back, another stroke of red painting the sand.

Fardeep stopped shaking and stood stock still, but the pounding was still there. Only now the whole world had been overtaken by red. He let fly his arrow, just like he would on a hunt. It flew the same way, straight and true, hitting the captain in the throat with a meaty smack. He looked shocked, not comprehending his own sudden end. Fardeep didn't let up. With a wordless cry, he kept shooting arrows, hitting the already dying man over and over while running closer. His actions had not gone unnoticed. The other ironborn, furious at their leader's demise, came barreling at him.

He had gotten to his father, who was lying on the ground, his eyes listless nd his body limp. Letting out another cry of rage, Fardeep picked up his fathers blade and set upon the ironborn like the wild animals he hunted. Yet through his grief-fueled rage, he remembered his father's instructions. "Remember your footwork my boy. Your feet allow you to be in the best position to strike." His feet slid in half moons through the stances, his sword singing as he slashed and parried. He had only been learning for a few moons, but he had hours and hours to practice daily. He made good use of his skill, and smaller height to down many opponents. In the end though he was just a boy. The Ironborn began to overwhelm him.

That was when the glover soldiers managed to cut their way to his portion of the field and stood with him back to back, protecting him. The townsmen, galvanized by the sheer spirit of the boy, took what weapons they could and made a furious assault on the raiders. The raiders not expecting a heavy fight, took severe losses. They began to retreat but it was too late. Of the 30 raiders who had landed, only a few were left alive. The price was high. Nearly a quarter of the townsmen, about 80 in total had been cut down. Among them was Hardin. As the last of the ironborn were dealt with, the innkeeper came and laid a hand on Fardeep's shoulder, who was kneeling beside his father. "You've done well boy. It's enough. Come with me I'll get you cleaned up." The fury was gone from Fardeep now, and all the remained was a deep emptiness, one he had not felt since his mother's passing.


End file.
